Gray Versus White
The pigeons and seagulls were having a fight.
(Reporters might call it the “Gray versus White.”)
Lined up on the railing, awaiting some food,
There seemed to be tension, an ominous mood.
Since in that location, for year after year,
The pigeons have roosted; they’ve made their career
Of circling over the benches to wait
For the lady who feeds them, a sunrise-time date.
But lately, the seagulls have gotten the word
Of this ritual, squawked and relayed bird to bird,
So the railing’s been crowded as it’s ever been
With the early morn quiet disturbed by the din.
The fight wasn’t physical; no feathers flew,
Though the circular flying meant double the poo.
As I passed on my walk, I just hoped that my luck
Would hold out or you might hear me yelling out – duck!
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